Free Fall (Elite Force #4)(33)
Author: Catherine Mann

For a greedy instant, she wanted to throw her arms around his neck and hold on, to say to hell with the smart decision or the inevitable. She just wanted him and would give up anything, do anything to be with him. Until reason smothered the whisper of hope before it could reach a full flame. They needed to find a way to accept each other rather than change each other.

“I would say you’re breaking my heart. I would also say I can’t be happy if what I’m doing makes you unhappy.” She held onto his elbows, her nails digging in deep as if she could hold onto this moment, hold onto him. “Truly, Jose, this is pointless and we both know it. We’re only delaying the inevitable.”

Even as she hoped he would tell her she was wrong, she couldn’t miss the frustration tightening his jaw.

His hands slid from her face to her shoulders. “I think you’re the one not being honest with me or yourself. I offer to give you whatever you want and you still turn me down? Who’s really afraid of the perfect life?”

His accusation made her gasp, each wording slicing clean through her. It wasn’t true, damn it. She’d poured her entire heart and dreams into their relationship. She tipped her head back to blink away tears blurring the stars.

“Shit,” he cursed softly.

Just as bullets pocked the ground at her feet.

Chapter 8

Jose hooked his arm around Stella’s waist and slammed them both against the wall. Gunfire popped from the other side of the building and damn it, he could use some professional distance right now. Even knowing she was a trained agent didn’t stop him from wanting to wrap himself around her and insulate her from danger.

But he also had a duty to protect their base, the best way to keep her safe. He whipped his weapon from the holster. A klaxon wailed, waning and increasing, pulsing through the organized chaos. People on foot raced for cover while the armored trucks squealed to a halt as personnel inside went into attack mode.

No enemy forces were in sight. Gunfire and mortars all came from outside the fence in distant tree lines and from behind three crappy trucks. Security forces in the watchtowers returned fire. The too damn familiar sounds of battle swelled.

A whistle sounded, the distinct piercing wail of a…

“Incoming!” he shouted, hooking an arm around Stella’s waist a second before the rocket-launched grenade exploded twenty yards away. Concrete spewed into the air like volcanic ash. He tucked Stella closer, debris stoning his back. Even with his body on high alert, still he couldn’t help but catch the scent of her hair, the softness of her body.

Damn it, she distracted him, made him weak when he needed to be strong more than ever.

She wriggled in his arms and yelled, “We need to find better cover.”

“Roger,” he answered, already scanning for the closest door, assessing to see if it would be locked or open.

Fine-tuning his ears, he listened for the direction of the attacking fire. “Stella, the battle’s winding down.”

“Or they’re reloading.”

Still, the gunfire diminished, becoming more sporadic by the minute. As quickly as the attack began, it was over. Two of the rusted out trucks beyond the gate now were in flames. The third truck raced away, spewing a cloud of camouflaging dust in its wake.

The siren wailed in the aftermath, and shouts from within the base grew louder along with the echo of something else… Something unexpected. Barking? He peered around the corner and a big-eared mutt streaked out into the open road.

Three airmen sprinted after the blur of reddish brown dog. Shouts of, “Pumpkin, Pumpkin, stop, sit. Come on… Damn it…” made it clear the pooch wasn’t new to the neighborhood.

Stella clapped a hand over her mouth, laughing. She sank back on her butt and kept right on giggling and he understood well the need to tap the steaming stress after battle.

Jose eased back out into the street, kneeling until the dog that looked like some kind of mix between a Pharaoh hound and Rhodesian ridgeback barreled into his chest.

An airman wearing a red bandana on his head looped a makeshift leash around the dog’s neck. “Sorry about that. The gunfire freaked him out.”

Stella stepped up alongside, still grinning. “You’ve been hiding a local dog here? That’s against regs.”

She would point out the regs. She probably had the book memorized.

“Yes, ma’am,” the bandana-sporting flyboy said with a southern drawl, “but we just couldn’t let this little dude starve.”

“My wife would kick my ass,” said a private who didn’t look old enough to go to the prom, much less have a spouse. “We’re trying to work through a group that will bring him back to the States.”

The flyboy tugged his dog. “We’d better get him tucked away.”

“Roger that.” Jose took hold of Stella’s elbow and steered her toward the hangar. “Things may have died down for the moment, but I’m not feeling the need to stand around here chitchatting.”

Keeping his 9 mm in hand, he hoofed it faster, staying close to the buildings until finally he tucked Stella into the safety of the hangar that housed their mobile command center.

He made a beeline straight toward Mr. Smith. “What the hell was that all about outside?”

Mr. Smith normally played life close to the vest, but the guy’s regular stony face was downright thunderous right now. The agent reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a roll of antacids and thumbed one into his mouth. “We’re still not a hundred percent sure, but actually, those sorts of attacks are commonplace right now.” He crunched the tablet, the second already thumbed free and ready. “Rebel forces, separatists, warlords—hell, even al-Qaeda takes potshots at this base. This place needs thicker walls and better intel.”

Stella picked away gravel on the knees of her jeans. “What about the cloth? Any luck deciphering it? And what about Sutton’s backpack?”

“The backpack had some other relics in it, which we’re going over, but no other cloths. We’re still working on the kanga with a local translator.” Mr. Smith tucked away the antacids. “Once he’s through we’ll let you know.”

“Or I could work with what they already completed,” she pressed.

“We’ll let you know.” Mr. Smith tugged his jacket over his shoulder harness as he left.

Stella’s jaw jutted. “Too bad there aren’t any trees around here for him to actually mark his territory.”